


Unaltered

by 4vrAFangirl



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4vrAFangirl/pseuds/4vrAFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wishes to protest. There can be no information she could provide which would change the compass of his heart. She is his true North, he knows it. He has been wrong about so many things, embarrassingly many lately (which he certainly plans to rectify), he is not the great judge of character he once believed himself to be, but even so he has never been more sure of anything in his life than that he loves Anna with his very immortal soul, and that if she will only accept him, he will do everything within his power, always, for her sake and happiness. But he can see her struggle under the weight whatever it is that she has come to tell him, and instead bites his tongue to let her speak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unaltered

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of spoilers for Season 3, episodes 1 & 2.  
> Written because I couldn't get any sleep after that incredible ending, and because I live in hope of all the Annlett moments possible, and absolute terror and certainty that somehow this will all end in heartache, because Anna and Hewlett aren't allowed to have nice things or sustainable happiness. Here's hoping I'm absolutely wrong about the latter, but in the meantime, have a dose of a little angst, but mostly Annlett fluffiness.
> 
> Want a peek behind the scenes of writing these stories? Got a prompt or idea for a fic you'd like to see? I write for all manner of fandoms and ships! Drop me a note on my Tumblr: [afangirlreadsfics](http://www.afangirlreadsfics.tumblr.com)

"Ms. Strong," Major Hewlett manages with a surprised but entirely pleased smile, standing from the desk where he has been working in the study, when she purposefully shut the door a little louder than is necessary to announce her presence. Anna loathes the knowledge that his warmth and smile will not long hold out. "What can I do for you?"

"You look to have been in the middle of something," she points out, feeling her resolve wavering ever so slightly. She has agonized over it for hours now, rehearsed a dozen and a half times what it is she is going to say, but now, seeing him, she wavers. _Was this truly the best course?_ "I can come back and speak to you at another time," she offers. She cannot long delay it, for both their sakes, but if he is in the midst of something important...

"Nonsense," he replies dismissively. "Just a letter- to my mother, nothing that cannot abide waiting a little while longer. What did you wish to discuss?"

"I had hoped to speak to you about the proposal you made to me last week," Anna replies with a hard swallow, forcing her hands to stop wringing nervously.

He looks- _hopeful_ , as the Major nods and guides her over to a seat on the small settee, and Anna hates herself still a little more. He thinks she is going to accept him. It's not an entirely unreasonable conclusion, at least not based on the facts as he is aware of them. She has at no point made it clear his feelings or proposal were unwelcome and has kept his company on several occasions since, with ever the same friendliness between them as they have had since the first night he showed her the stars with his telescope.

"I-" she hesitates. "I am afraid that I cannot accept your offer," she says finally, avoiding his gaze for a moment, unable to look at the inevitable pain her words will have put there, before she finally forces herself to face the hurt she has caused, knowing it is only beginning.

"Well, I cannot pretend that this was the answer I had hoped for," Hewlett admits with a feeble attempt at a laugh which falls pathetically short of being truly convincing. "May I ask why," he inquires softly.

 _Of course you may_ , Anna thinks; and indeed she must tell him why she cannot marry him, or rather perhaps why he should not wish to marry her; it may be the only way to save his life.

"Because you are a good and honorable man, Edmund," she replies sadly. "And I do not wish to tarnish your reputation, not at any more than I have done already."

"Anna," Hewlett begins looking both bewildered and utterly unconvinced. "You cannot earnestly believe that," he smiles relieved, shaking his head. If he can simply convince her that marrying her would only be an advantage to them both, that he would be the happiest of men and endeavor to make her the same amongst women, she will have to accept him. She has not yet declared her feelings to be the same as his of course, but she has given him no reason to believe if they are not shared already, that at least they could be.  His hand seeks out hers where the rest anxiously in her lap, but Anna pulls them back just out of his reach halting him.

"Major," she resumes, a little louder, firmer, but no less regretful, if anything with a kind of grim determination behind it that rings both unfamiliar and unsettling to him. The formality of his title after their having become so close, it being used to put more distance between their two persons than the settee affords them, an almost tangible sting, quickly drags his hand back to his own lap, curling around his other in a kind of unconscious, and self-soothing gesture for the loss of her hand.

"Major Hewlett, I have to acquaint you with some facts which have been too long concealed from you. Once I am finished, and you are made aware of them I fear you shall not wish me for a companion, or your wife."

He wishes to protest. There can be no information she could provide which would change the compass of his heart. She is his true North, he knows it. He has been wrong about so many things, embarrassingly many lately (which he certainly plans to rectify), he is not the great judge of character he once believed himself to be, but even so he has never been more sure of anything in his life than that he loves Anna with his very immortal soul, and that if she will only accept him, he will do everything within his power, always, for her sake and happiness. But he can see her struggle under the weight whatever it is that she has come to tell him, and instead bites his tongue to let her speak.

"I need your word first," she says, her fingers twitching for a moment, as if contemplating reaching out for his own, before thinking better of it. _No._ She won't manipulate him into giving her what she wants simply because he has been misfortune enough to carry a torch for her. "That Abraham and his family will be allowed to leave Setauket without harm or incident."

"A- Ms. Strong," he catches himself. "I have already made you that promise. And related the same to Abraham when we met to set your trap for Simcoe. I am a man of my word. They may, and should I expect, be leaving our town soon. My men and I will not stand in their way." She nods. He has already promised her this, although she knows even a man with such strength character as Hewlett's may be forced to reexamine his promise after she explains herself and the situation fully.

"Doubtless when you confronted Abraham about his activities you asked for the names of his conspirators."

"Yes, of course. He gave me none, and I am afraid that Mr. Woodhull for all his good intent knew only of his son's involvement, and no other persons."

"I know the name of another involved," Anna admits. "Abraham would not have given it up, no matter how long or what methods were used to question him."

"How did you come by it?"

"I was born to it," she confesses.

A long moment of silence falls between them, the crackle of the fireplace and the small constant ticking of the clock on the mantle the only sounds between them as wide brown eyes stare back at her in disbelief, and Anna forces herself to watch shock and confusion diffuse and transfigure itself into a kind of grief and defeat. "You? You have been one of the co-conspirators? A- a spy for the rebels," he manages finally, hands trembling a little before moving to grasp his knees, to give them an occupation and keep them still. "How long," the Major marvels, shaking his head before she can answer. "When you jumped from the boat, when you swam back-" _to me_ , he thinks before he can stop himself, because _hadn't that been his dearest, most secret of hopes_? "-to the shore," he says instead. "I thought... I convinced myself, that you weren't one of them. I blinded myself to you," he continues. _I was Oedipus._ His voice is steady, level, despite the fact he feels as though his very spirit has been shattered and lays broken on the floor at their feet.

"From the moment I have known you," he whispers, recalling his confession to her about his feelings, his hopes, only some days ago. "Have I simply loved an idea? A lie," he concludes bitterly. "A fiction of my own creation," he acknowledges finally with a nod, a small frown curled at the corners of his mouth, accepting his own role and blame in it.

Anna wants to protest, wants to say that being a spy against the crown is not the whole of who she is, but however others may have misused his sense of honor, his trust, Hewlett is not a stupid man, he already knows this; and whatever hurt she has brought upon him it was not easily done, not since she has come to know the man behind the red coat. The major is a pious man, a good man, probably one of the best men (if not befitting the superlative himself) that Anna has ever known. He has been kind to her when few others have, and treated her with far more respect and care. She won't make this more difficult for him now than it already must be.

"Please," he entreats her now, and for a moment, for this single word, he allows his emotion, for the man behind this servant of the Lord and the King to seep through. If there is any sympathy, any compassion for him within he means to draw it out and make use of it here. "Speak honestly. Why did you jump, if not for fealty to the crown?"

Anna bites her lip, tears forming as she shakes her head. There are some lies which are better kept; some truths where it may be kinder to remain ignorant. She wishes she could keep him so, that he might never have known about her role. That he might never have come to care for her as he has, never shown her the kind of man that never aspired to be a soldier, but did so to care and provide for his family, the brilliant and inquiring mind with a passion for the mysteries of the universe, because it was so much easier to lie to Major Hewlett than it is to lie to Edmund.

"For Abraham," she admits softly, the name almost choked by a silent sob. She will not allow herself tears now, however easy they might come if she did. She has wept in front of Edmund once before, and wept for the Major's sake many times besides, and he has comforted her in every instance, though she hardly earned or deserved such tenderness. She certainly doesn't now. She bites her lip again waiting for him to say something, so hard she tastes the slight tang of blood in her mouth, unable but to think of last evening when they stood in this very room and kissed her. She should have stopped him, could surely have done so, his assurances of respect during his proposal were far from idle words. Even now, he is giving her an opportunity to speak, has never once raised his voice, or spoken of the consequences they both know fall to such crimes as she has helped commit. This exchange is nothing like the one that drove Abraham to flee from his father's house with angry shouts and his gun drawn.

"Because you love him still," he replies softly with a nod. He expected this answer, and his reply isn't a question, but Anna cannot help but to answer it. If he is offering her the chance to speak, if he truly wishes to know and understand, he cannot hope to do so without the whole of it.

"Abe and I have known each other since we were children, and we have loved one another almost as long," Anna confesses.

Edmund looks away, eyes desperately seeking anything else of interest to look at, while one fist clinches before immediately relaxing, going limp. He cannot fight this. Cannot hope to compete with the kind of history that they two share, even if both are married to others in God and man's eyes.

"We were engaged once," she continues softly, though every word pains her a little knowing how much they must hurt for him to hear. "Secretly. But when his brother died, his father persuaded him to keep his brother's promise to Mary instead of any he had made to me."

"Mr. Woodhull related those circumstances to me when Abraham and- your husband," he forces himself to say, although his expression makes it plain the words taste ill on his tongue. "-were arrested. He suggested that Abraham came to the aid of Selah not out of loyalty to the rebel cause, but because he still held some affection for you. I didn't choose to examine whether or not you might also, then or since," the Major admits shaking his head at his folly; his own hopefulness for getting in the way of his seeing the whole affair more clearly. "Foolish," he mutters more to himself than his company.

"But Abraham is not the boy I knew and loved. Not anymore," Anna continues, drawing in a deep breath and drawing up all of her courage and strength to continue, and whatever inner conflict the Major may be feeling, his head and gaze snap up in an instant upon her words. She has no right to do so, but finds his renewed attention gives her hope. "His imprisonment has changed him as much as your own, but where yours has made you a man of that much stronger character and principle for it, I fear Abraham's has weakened and destroyed much of his." He doesn’t understand yet, why she is sharing all of this information, why he’s enduring this torture, but he must, and he has been patient and attentive despite all that he must be thinking and suffering now at her hands, both from her present words, and the implications of all her past transgressions.

“He means to see you dead,” Anna confesses, and now she cannot possibly hide or falsify the fear in her wide eyes, the tremble in her voice. “You know he’s the one they call Culper. You are a loose end.” Hewlett’s frown only deepens now.

“I have already told Abraham that I do not care if he is Culper. My only thought, my only concern, in all of this was- it has been you, Anna. Only you.” His words test her resolve not to weep in front of him again, stab a little deeper and twist the knife that confessing her true role has plunged into her own heart. That he can still speak to her in this manner after everything she has told him, while his head must be swimming with questions, suspicions and doubt, like the very finest friend he has long since been, or that any soul could hope for.

“He does not believe you, or he does not care,” Anna presses through her own personal grief, shaking her head. “He means to kill you. And if he should find the opportunity…”

“I believe you,” he nods, and somehow, despite all that has been said, everything that she has done, Anna can tell that he means it. “But I confess I don’t understand why you should be telling me any of this. What is it you would have me do?”

“ _I would have you live_ ,” Anna gasps desperately, forgetting any sense of decorum or personal space, any resolve she may have had and snatching his hands up into her own, relief flooding through her at their warmth, the evidence that there is perhaps still time, a chance left. ‘ _The only way to save Hewlett is if you warn him, if you warn him I swing from the gallows, so it’s your choice_ ,’ Abe had cautioned. Of course her childhood friend probably never dreamed how those words would sway her decision.

“And Abraham,” Hewlett asks uncertainly, looking up from where his gaze has been studying her smaller hands where they grasp his own.

“I don’t know,” she confesses, staring at their hands. The Abraham she knew and cared for once would not so often and cruelly dismiss her as he has been, would never have forced her to make such a choice. He would never have dreamed of some of the things this man has done. Perhaps her childhood friend is already gone. She does not wish Mary to be a widow, not even for all the jealousy and bitterness, even hate, Mary has shown her. She does not wish for little Thomas to grow up without a father, but she has examined her heart- increasingly often of late- and searched it still further after Abraham made his intentions clear. Her dearest wish, her concerns, and deepest thoughts lie with Edmund.

She has known even as she practiced what she might say, knowing all the while she would falter, or butcher it when the time came, the delivery sure to be as stilted as her Harpsichord playing that she would lose- first Edmund, and later her life. But it is a calculated loss. An acceptable one, if only because she might hang with the knowledge that this man she has come to care so deeply for may live a little while longer. May perhaps one day, when this wretched war is over, come whatever side prevails: return home, see his mother, have more time for the stars, and maybe even find happiness and fulfillment with someone worthier of him.

“I am in no position to make any requests of you. I put you in a terrible position already. Edmund, I am sorry.”

“Ms. Strong,” Hewlett begins, before cutting himself short, seeming to change his mind. “Anna,” he begins again, a single and tentative thumb brushing across the back of her hand, the skin alighting to the touch, reveling in what she knows cannot last. “If you have a request of me, I pray that you make it, because my feelings for you remain unaltered,” he replies firmly.

“You cannot mean that. You have not had the time to think about-“ Anna protests, even as her heart seems to beat so fiercely it threatens to burst from her chest, even as she longs to believe him.

“I have had plenty of time to think of you, and about what I feel for you,” the Major interrupts softly, but firmly. “The thought of you, of seeing you again, of escaping and protecting you from that bastard Simcoe, kept me alive those many long and freezing nights. When we spoke of your leaving Woodhull house last week, I offered to be your protector through life; that desire is unchanged. You will remember you asked me if I ever thought about leaving it all behind,” he reminds her. Anna nods, not trusting herself to speak, not wishing to interrupt whatever it is he may wish to say.

“There was a time I would never have confessed as much, would certainly never have truly considered it. There is I confess, a certain level of responsibility that is keenly felt for this place, for the people that live here, that has always made the thought difficult, and I should never leave Setauket prey to the hands of a demon such as Simcoe. But with him gone, my second in command is a fair and very capable man, not as learned, but certainly more of reason than blood,” Hewlett continues carefully. Anna doesn’t dare guess what his assessing the next man in their infrastructure might mean, but she feels for a moment a hard battle is being fought somewhere in her belly.

“I could offer you little,” he continues, looking up to meet her eyes again with a gentle squeeze of her hands now. “Nothing like what you have had here before the war touched this place,” he admits. “It could be- seen as shameful, something of a betrayal for me to resign my post now, but I have served my time and done my best to meet all the expectations and circumstances which have fallen to me during my service. You know that it was never my true desire to be a part of this conflict, and seeing it and the cost up close has only made me less certain of it. But I could give you a hearth, and a husband who would give you everything he does possess, and do anything for your happiness.”

“You-“  Anna whispers, mouth agape, and eyes wide. “You would still marry me? But I can offer you nothing,” she protests. Hewlett frowns a little, loosening his hands and freeing them from hers to settle back in his lap.

“There is nothing then, which I may say or do? Nothing that may yet give you pause, and myself hope that you could think of me, feel for me more than something strictly platonic,” the Major manages softly.

“No, Edmund, there is not,” she replies her own voice soft too, near a whisper, a carefully guarded secret passed between them, although there are still no sounds of any others throughout the house awake at this hour to hear or intrude upon them. “There is nothing you might do or say that could entice me to think of you as more than a friend, to love you, or to wish for you to be my husband, my partner and protector, my lover,” she continues, and he actually flinches when her hands reach out again for his own, as though her touch may hurt him outwardly as much as her words have inwards, so she halts. One hand reaching up instead to cup his cheek in her palm, and slowly directing him to face and meet her gaze. “Because I already feel those things, and wish to share all of that- my everything and every day with you. But Edmund, I…”

Her words which seem to have struck him dumb and mute finally seem to settle , for in an instant, and before she can say another word, offer up any more reasons why they should neither want or pursue being together, he has closed the distance between them, his right hand covering hers where it rests on his cheek to keep it there, his left wrapping around her to pull her close as his lips press against hers.

“I don’t care,” he whispers breathless, shaking his head softly where his forehead rests against her own when they have finally pulled back just enough to get some much needed air. “I don’t care why we shouldn’t. God forgive me, but I don’t care about this war, or who bloody wins it. About Abraham. Selah. Washington, or George himself. Hang it all,” he declares in vehement whispers. “Marry me, Ms. Strong. Run away with me, and let the rest of the world sort itself out without us. Please,” he adds. “Anna, if you would truly see me live, then it can only be with you, or the very heart of me, my very soul perhaps, is dead already.”

Anna closes the gap between them now, fingers delicately trailing up his neck, through the very fine short brown hairs that are his own, hidden beneath the ponytail of his wig, causing him to shiver a little in her embrace as she seals her lips against his.

“Yes, I will marry you, Edmund Hewlett,” she whispers with a brilliant smile, eyes shining with unshed tears, though no longer the sort she has spent so much of the night, and the length of this conversation fighting; thrilling at the way he lights up before her upon her words, the wrinkles that come around his eyes and the corners of his mouth as he mirrors her own delighted, unrestrained joy.

It is impossible to determine who initiates their next kiss and embrace, and perhaps it doesn’t matter. They kiss until it threatens to become indecent, before separating just enough to sit side by side, her right and his left hand laced and settled between them, Anna’s head pillowed on Edmund’s shoulder, staring in comfortable silence into the dying embers of the fire until exhaustion forces them both to concede the need for sleep.

Hewlett stops at her door to drop her off and bid her goodnight, but Anna still has not let go of his hand, and gently-wary of his still newly developed gait because of his injuries- tugs him in after her. It is far from the largest or most luxurious of rooms the house has to offer, and not nearly as nice as the Major’s own room, but she has seen and lived through too much to trust happiness or good things that come to her can be anything but fleeting. Whatever mistake has delivered him to her, she has no intention of giving Edmund up any longer, and tells him so.

“I won’t lose my husband,” she pronounces firmly, one hand coming to rest over his heart. “Not now. No one else has a key to my room, and they shan’t think to look for you here. Not tonight at least. We can make a new plan when we both have had rest. Please stay,” she pleads, a little softer.

His protests of impropriety, her modesty, fall away in a moment under her gaze and in the face of her earnest requests. “You shall be the most spoiled and doted upon wife that has ever lived,” he smiles, though it is clear he is teasing. “I can deny you nothing.”

“Then you will let me see my husband’s hair? Without a wig or cap,” she teases back, tugging ever so slightly at the powered wig on his head, purposefully leaving it just a little crooked to vex and perhaps entice him into abandoning it.

“I can scarcely imagine why you should desire it,” he replies bewildered shaking his head. He’s not been afforded the opportunity to wash it in at least a few days, and he’s long since come to think of it as altogether plain and unimpressive, compared to the full regalia of his uniform. “But as my lady wishes,” he smiles tenderly, slowly helping her to remove it from his head, and place it over atop the vanity.

“As terrible as you expected,” he asks, though he is only half joking now, a bit nervous under her scrutiny.

“Dreadful,” she laughs, one hand running along through the short strands as she presses a quick, reassuring kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You always were hard on the eyes,” she teases, kissing the other side of his mouth. “But I’m sure I will manage to bear it.”

His breath catches once his mind catches up to what she is doing, hands catching hers as she makes to undo the buttons of his coat. “Edmund, you cannot sleep in this,” Anna whispers, “However fine you may look in it. Your undershirt and pants if you insist upon it, but the rest of it must go.” He lets her hands go to finish her task, his own falling limply to his sides until he can shrug out of his coat, and then sits on the edge of the bed to carefully remove his boots while Anna unties his scarf and sash. Edmund flushes slightly as her fingers brush around the now bare skin of his neck.

“Help me,” she asks turning about where she kneels in front of him so that he can untie and loosen the strings of her dress, the soft green cotton fabric pulled over her head before has entirely processed what she has done, or the state of undress they are now both in, as he unhooks and frees her from the confines of her corset.

“I shall sleep atop the sheets,” Hewlett tries.

“Nonsense, it is the middle of winter. You will freeze if you try,” she replies, pulling out the sheets and quilt she has already burrowed under herself from beneath him and tossing them over his own body before pressing in close, resting her head over his heart with a contented sigh. Resigned to the fact that his life will be infinitely easier the sooner he accepts and allows himself to become accustomed to the stubborn young woman he loves getting her way, Hewlett allows himself to relax, adjusting himself and allowing his right arm to drape across his own chest in order to hold her better in his arms.

No chill, rebels, or would-be assassins will be able to get to him tonight, but although they may be soon fighting an entirely new battle, they two against unknowable and untold objections or circumstances attempting to keep them here in Setauket, and apart from one another, Edmund thinks he likes the sound of her quietly testing the name ‘Mrs. Anna Hewlett’ in the dark quiet of her bedroom, against the linen of his shirt, before sleep drags them both under.


End file.
